Pyrrhic
by Little Miss Illusional
Summary: Jay's life was a battlefield. He was used to the pawns, the soldiers. The victims of war. He always knew that he'd win the fight. But he never anticipated a pyrrhic victory. A continuation of 'Irrespective'.


A/N: Hopefully, you've read Streets, Lights and Irrespective, so this story won't be hard to follow. While it can be read as a stand-alone, it's best that you read the others to know where this story is placed.

On a bit of a shameless self-promotion, I've been chatting with the team at fyeahclassofthetitans, and they kind of are ridiculously enjoying this series. They're going to write a lengthy review on the blog, so check that out if you want (I've been told there will be reaction GIFs. Lots.).

I'm not sure if I'll continue with this series, considering they haven't really been that widely read, and that I'm considering undertaking a new project next year (stay tuned for more info about that). Long story short: reviews equal happiness, happiness equals writing. Simple.

Be sure to keep reading Sleepless Demeanours for more information. It's still being updated once (usually twice!) a week, but I'll probably take breaks over Christmas.

Oh, and the title of this story comes from the phrase "pyrrhic victory", which means _a victory that is won by incurring terrible losses_.

Anyway, this is my Christmas gift to all of you. Enjoy, and happy holidays!

* * *

Pyrrhic

New Olympia was filled with the kind of stories that Jay wanted to spend the rest of his life reading. Every person, street corner and building was concreted with words that burned in his heart. Meeting them was easy. Fighting for them was easy. Giving them up was unthinkable.

When the war was over, and his team went their ways, none of them said goodbye. It was an unspoken thought, a promise. _We'll all meet again, someday soon._ And then the pages turned, and their chapter together was over.

He moved cities but kept the stories. And he tried, he really did try, when he arrived back home. He tried his best to be the happy, tousle-haired Jay his parents had never had the chance to say goodbye to. He was eighteen when he came back home, but he was already too old to recognise.

Every once in a while, he'd visit Theresa. And he tried, he really did try, to keep the relationship going. But their love was malnourished by a lack of togetherness. They could have continued, but neither had the heart.

Jay became a drifter. Time was irrelevant. And he was damaged. As long as there was such a thing as time, everybody was damaged in the end, changed into something else. It always happened, sooner or later. In Jay's case, it was started by an unexpected windfall. A distant relation carked it, leaving a small house in New Olympia in Jay's possession. It was exactly the push he needed.

Return to New Olympia was inevitable. He packed his things, said goodbye to his parents - properly, this time. His mother hadn't said anything. She still hadn't recovered from the loss of her sixteen year old son.

"I'll be back before you know." he assured her, embracing his mother tightly. "I'll visit all the time."

The woman shook her head, glassy eyes quivering. "No you won't."

Only a mother could see through a lie like that.

When he drove back to the city, he made a deliberate effort to go through the CBD, past the school. Except, there was no school to drive past; only a construction site. He gaped at the scaffolding and yellow hats of the workers, milling across a site that had once had such importance. Surely it had only been a few years since he'd been there, right?

He parked his car a block away and walked up to the silver fence between the site and the pathway. A construction worker saw him staring, and called out.

"Can I help ya?"

Jay shrugged. "Didn't there used to be a school here?" His voice sounded hopeful, almost childlike.

The man nodded. "Yeah. The old woman who owned it sold up a few years back. Said they was moving the school back to where it used ta be."

Thanking the man, he trudged back to his car with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn't realise he was angry until he'd slammed the car door behind him, and his shaky hands were on the steering wheel. Fury raged inside him. _How dare they. How dare they leave._ But hadn't that always been the plan? New Olympia was temporary, a quick-fix solution, and now that Cronus was no longer an issue, they'd returned to their home.

Jay's new house was an older style one-bedroom affair in the south-eastern suburban area. It was small, with an average backyard of dry grass and withering plants. If he stood on the bench on the patio, he could just make out the dull blue of the ocean. He spent the first week unpacking, allowing the house to clutter with his small collection of belongings, until it stopped feeling like a stranger's home.

His old boss had written him a glowing reference, and he was quickly employed by New Olympia's sailing club. The manager knew him from the days of the war, back when he was a teen that saw sailing as an escape, and recognised him now as a matured adult. Six days a week, he'd instruct the junior classes, which was as tedious as it sounded.

On the seventh day, he'd visit the library.

The first time, it had been an accident. He'd been actively avoiding places that reminded him of the war. The library had been his solitary retreat back in those days, and so he'd walked past it with fierce determination whenever his outings took him past the old building. But after a few hours of wandering the city, he walked through the impressive entranceway, into the shelves upon shelves of endless books.

He remembered when he used to come here and escape the insanity of the dorm. The library was so quiet, so tranquil, it was like another world. He paced through the shelves now, smiling as his hand ran across the tops of the books. He always loved the feel of paper, and the smell of books.

When he opened them, most of the books had the smell of an earlier time leaking out between the pages - a special odour of the knowledge and emotions that for ages had been calmly resting between the covers. Breathing it in, he glanced through a few pages before returning each book to its shelf.

He came back the next morning, this time determined to find a book, any book, and read it, cover to cover. A deserted library in the morning - there was something about it that really got to him. All possible words and ideas were in there, resting peacefully.

Wandering through the doors, drifting through the shelves, he found a small blue book by an author whose name he couldn't pronounce. Tucking the book under his arm, he walked to the collection of armchairs and desks by the window. A number were already occupied. He slid into one, glancing at his neighbours for a few seconds, and then opened his book.

Time passed slowly. Nobody said a word; everyone was lost in quiet reading. One person sat at a desk jotting down notes, but the rest were sitting silently, not moving, totally absorbed. Just like him.

* * *

The library became like a second home. Or maybe more like a real home, more than the place Jay lived in. By going every week he got to know all the librarians who worked there. They knew his name and always said hi. He was painfully unable to say anything, though, and could barely reply.

Each week, he'd trawl through the shelves, glancing at titles. If one stood out, he'd pull it from the shelf and read a few lines from the first page. He wasn't a fast reader. He liked to linger over each sentence, enjoying the style. If he didn't enjoy the writing, he stopped.

Just before the library closed, he'd select a book that he'd enjoyed, and check it out. It'd be his sole obsession during the week; immerging himself in the story, daring himself to believe in the world that existed within its pages. It was with sore disappointment that he returned to his own world when the book was finished, often days before he could go to the library next. He was rather bad with pacing himself.

To put it simply, his life was adequate. Average at best. His salary and his house, his social life and his quiet time. It was all astoundingly, superbly, mind-bogglingly _adequate_.

He had to suspect it, though. He had to have seen it coming.

Adequacy was never a trait associated in Jay's life. It was only a matter of time before adequacy was punctured, shattered beyond repair.

It was delivered on a Thursday night, accompanied by the soft pitter-patter of rain; the last of the previous night's rainfall. A soft knocking on his door pulled him from the final pages of his book. Cursing, he wondered if he could finish the chapter before leaving the brilliantly crafted world, but the knocking persisted. He stood, carefully placing the book on his chair, and strode to the door, pulling it open.

An orange-haired woman stood there, her bright green eyes alive and glossy. She looked like she'd been crying.

"Hello Jay," Theresa said, her voice a monotone. "Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, he nodded, and she strode past him, into his house. He followed her into the living room, thoughts racing through him. When he was able to collect his thoughts, he mumbled something about making coffee.

She shook her head. "No thanks. But you go ahead."

So he busied himself with making a solitary cup of coffee, watching her from out of the corner of his eye. She wandered around the living room for a while, taking in his house. Finally, she settled on the lounge, and, coffee in hand, he joined her.

No words were exchanged as he sipped his coffee. He was waiting for her to speak, and wondered if she was waiting for him. He didn't know what to say to her; in the nine years since he'd last seen her, he'd been well. Average. Adequate. He had no stories to share. All his tales belonged to a time past.

"Archie is dead."

His head whipped around, his mouth hanging open. "What?!" He nearly dropped his coffee, too, but tightened his grip at the last second. Numb shock flowed through him. "How?! When?!"

She told her story with a sort of indifferent separation. By removing herself from the incident, perhaps her emotional torment could be overcome. As he watched her mouth move, listening to the words but not absorbing them, Jay wondered if there was more than the cold facts she had given him.

_Had she loved him?_ The thought stuck at Jay, but he wasn't sure who _him_ referred to. Archie… or himself?

"I didn't know who to call," she explained, staring at the carpet a few inches to the left of his shoe. "And I knew that you were in the city and-"

"You knew I was here?" He interrupted, a little hurt.

She nodded.

"And you didn't contact me until now?"

Theresa looked up, suddenly livid. "For Zeus' sake, Jay, Archie is _dead_! Don't you dare turn this into your personal issues about a relationship that finished long before it ended."

He swallowed and nodded slowly. An apology.

She took a few shaky breaths and he searched for a new conversation topic. He found none, and instead fumbled with the edge of his coffee mug. His eyes drifted from the rim of the mug to her pale fingers, resting on her knees. He wondered if her skin was still as soft as his memory recalled.

Looking up, he realised that she had been staring at him. And now he was staring back, into those green eyes that he'd been missing, and hadn't realised until now. He wasn't sure how long they sat like that, eyes fixed on each other, each determined not to speak. Until;

"I've missed you."

He wondered whose words they had been, and then winced as he realises that they were his words, dotted with longing and love.

Theresa nodded, and said what he imagined to be the worst reply to his declaration of love.

"I know."

_I know._

She almost sighed as she spoke. _She was so beautiful when she sighed_, he thought, quite abruptly. Mentally, he scolded himself, remembering that she could read his thoughts, especially when he was screaming his mental processes.

"I should go." She murmured after a moment, eyes downcast.

Jay fought to keep his voice steady. "You could stay?" A little hope slipped into his words, it seemed. She studied him for a moment, her green eyes boring into him.

_You could stay,_ he thought, loudly.

She nodded. "I know." But then she slipped away, pacing down the hall and closed the door behind her.

* * *

It wasn't much of a funeral. Six adults standing around a laconic headstone.

They'd come together as a team for the first time in a decade. The huntress, the brawn, the brains, the good-looking, the fighter, and him, the leader. But they were missing the warrior, though his physical body was now six feet below them. Buried. Gone forever.

Initially, they'd turned to him, unsure of what to do once the coffin had been lowered. He'd shaken his head and stared at the grave, unable to speak to his team. He knew that if he spoke, he wouldn't have been able to hold back the guilt. He knew it wasn't his fault that Archie was dead, but thoughts pierced him like shrapnel. What if he'd made more of an effort to keep in touch? What if he'd tried to find Archie when he moved back to the city? Would the warrior still be alive?

Maybe it was his fault. He had to dedicate his whole life to the idea: he was the caretaker of every single member of the team. They were his responsibility. He could never show weakness in front of them; he was their strength. He could never let them see him in despair; he was their hope. He had to always be everything to everyone in the team.

And now Archie was buried. Gone forever. Out of Jay's reach, beyond the power of his control.

A tiny spark of training kicked in at that point. A small niggling in his mind, a reminder of what power was.

Power wasn't control at all — power was strength, and giving that strength to others. A leader wasn't someone who forces others to make them stronger; a leader was someone willing to give his strength to others that they may have the strength to stand on their own.

"Let's get out of here." He murmured, leading the way out of the cemetery, the group following haphazardly behind him. In that moment, he ceased to think of them as his team. They were fractured now, beyond repair.

Maybe that was what had made him a leader; he recognised teams and individuals.

Slowly walking out of the cemetery were six people, broken, grieving.

A leader didn't make pawns - he made people. And now his people were grown up, one was dead, and he had a strange feeling that this would be the last time that he'd see these individuals in his mortal life.

At the pub, they didn't speak until after a few rounds of drinks had been drained, and the alcohol instigated conversation better than any of them could. They exchanged stories about their lives, compared notes on finances and relationships. At that point, he turned to Theresa, who'd not spoken beyond stating she too was living in New Olympia again.

Her green eyes were clouded, fixated on the edge of the table in a deliberate effort to not be included in the conversation. She was so beautiful, and he didn't know how her heart withstood it all. How she'd withstood him, and Archie. She was an impossibility in his life - the kind of girl, now woman, whom Jay had only ever thought existed in a world beyond his own. But she'd managed to find her way into his reality, perhaps because she had an important mission in it, perhaps because she was there to save him from what people called the monotony of life.

He was at the point of considering the possibilities of standing and moving to sit closer to her when she looked up, meeting his eyes.

Telepathically, she told him to stop staring.

Telepathically, he told her he was sorry. He told her he just couldn't confide in her at that moment, told her the three feet between them felt like three eons to him and he didn't know how to bridge it.

Telepathically, she told him back that he was breaking her broken heart. He saw her tears welled in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill into a flood of raking sobs. But she held it in; stoic in her grief.

After Odie returned with another round of drinks, she announced that she too had words to speak. They watched as she fiddled with the edge of her glass, eyes downcast.

"Archie would be pissed that he couldn't get pissed with us." She said slowly, not looking up.

Herry was the first to laugh, chuckling under his breath, until the laughing became full-blown hysteria. They all joined in, chuckling senselessly and choking on their laughter. But it faded, as it must, and Jay met Theresa's eye when they were finished and sombre again.

She was so sad, and beautiful, all at once. That she could make the root of all tragedy laugh hysterically, and the rest of them look like monsters.

"Archie was a light in all our lives," she concluded, her voice crumbling at last. "And all lights have to go out."

* * *

They walked back to his house along the river. At the bridge, they stopped, dangling their hands over the rails. Theresa hadn't spoken, nor did she look at him. She stared down into the water, unmoving.

It was her silence that hurt him. He knew that if he were to comfort her and pull her into his arms, she would cry. Ball her eyes out, stain his shirt with mascara and tears. She would sob, and then pull away from him. She'd stare him in the eye, and hate him for exposing her weakness.

So he didn't.

He just stared, out into the water below.

Jay had never felt the urge to jump off a bridge, but there were times, like then, he had wanted to jump out of his life, out of his skin.

When they reached his house, he made coffee and placed a mug in front of her unmoving eyes. He sipped his coffee, waiting for her to join. When she didn't, and his was drained, she asked if she could rest. Showing her to his bedroom, he hesitated. Should he leave her to grieve alone? Or did she want a shoulder to lean on? She'd told the others that she was fine, back at the pub, that she would catch up with them soon. He stared at the carpet, moved a foot across his line of vision and back to the other side, then raised his eyes to hers.

Except, she wasn't on the other side of the room anymore. She was right in front of him.

"Jay," she began, the volume barely more than a whisper. "Don't leave me."

_Don't leave me like he did._

The unspoken end of her sentence hung in the air between them, as palpable as her exhalation against his shirt.

"I won't." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She crumbled the instant he touched her, and he instinctively pulled her into his arms. Her floral perfume tickled his nose.

Then she kissed him, not just a brush of lips, but a kiss that scalded his tongue. He didn't mean to return the kiss at first, but then the feelings resurfaced like a flood and all the years of guilt wormed back and he, Jay, was kissing Theresa like nothing else mattered.

And then something inside his brain clicked. Jay didn't want a brief moment of intimacy. He wanted an intimate moment of permanence. He pushed her away as gently as he could.

"No, Theresa." Even now, with her emotions starkly on display as they were, he couldn't do this. "Not like this."

She didn't try to touch him again. She just stood in front of him like a little lost girl. He saw her pain, and decided that he couldn't bear it any longer.

He kissed her again, light and feathery.

They fell back onto the bed, tangling, shedding clothes.

He pretended not to notice that the name she moaned wasn't his.

In the morning, he told her she could stay. He didn't verbally add that he wanted her to stay for as long as they both lived, and that he'd nurture her with all the love that he still had for her.

"I know." She'd said simply, and walked out the door.

In the weeks after, he dragged himself through his patterns, busying himself in work and the library for the sake of keeping his mind on something other than her. At the library, he avoided books with romance as if they were plagued, and ended up reading encyclopaedias and non-fiction. Everything else, he found, had traces of love. He couldn't bear that.

His heart was like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground were gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beat down on the surface of the river. Every time he saw a flood like that on the news he told himself; _that's it. That's my heart._

There was guilt in his heart. He hadn't wanted a singular night with Theresa. But he knew that there was no feeling in their togetherness, so why did he crave her like air? He needed to see her. And touch her. And just... know. Know if their fling, their dalliance, would continue. Know that if he pursued her, she'd grow to love him like she'd loved Archie. Like she'd once loved him, too.

Flicking through encyclopaedias, Jay was unhappy. But in a way, he was happy about it.

Happiness was an allegory.

Unhappiness was a story.

That evening, there was a knock on his door, and before he could go to it, Theresa let herself in. Not a word passed between them, not because they had nothing to say, but because they didn't have to say anything. They sat out on the patio in the approaching night, staring up at the stars.

Being with her, he felt a pain, like a frozen knife stuck in his chest. An awful pain, but the funny thing was, he was thankful for it. It was like that frozen pain and his very existence were one.

The pain was an anchor, mooring him there.

"Whatcha been up to, Jay?" She asked eventually, still staring into the heavens.

He shrugged. "Apart from working, not much."

She nodded. They fell quiet again, each staring into a different constellation, fearing that they may stray into each others' line of vision.

Silence, he discovered, was something he could actually hear.

Jay wanted to take her into his arms and hold her tight. But at the same time, he knew that was the exact opposite of what she wanted. She wanted to be free, and all he wanted was to hold her tight against him.

"The stars are beautiful," she mused, gesturing to a patch of brighter orbs in the sky. "What constellation is that?"

"Canis Major," he answered automatically. "The smaller dog."

"What's its story?" She breathed.

He paused, collecting the story to him from the depths of his memory. His mother had told him the story, back when he'd only been a child. He remembered the exact phrasing of her tale, and he recounted it for the orange-haired woman, word for word.

"Laelaps was a magical dog of ancient times. Zeus gave him as a gift to Europa, who then passed it down to King Minos. Eventually, Laelaps was used to hunt the Teumessian fox, a fox that could never be caught. They were a paradox, fated to never meet. Zeus was intrigued by the contradiction, and turned them into stars. Even as a constellation, they could never meet."

Theresa sighed to herself. "Fate is a conclusion."

And he looked at Theresa, and billions of stars were in her eyes, and she was drinking them up, pouring them into her soul.

Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings people could never get back. He realised that was part of what it meant to be alive. But inside their heads - at least that was where he imagined it - there was a little room where they stored those memories. A room like the stacks in the library. And to understand the workings of their own hearts, they had to keep on making new reference cards. They had to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, they would live forever in their own private library.

When they awoke the next morning, tangled in bed sheets, she'd kissed him softly on the lips, wordlessly, and began to pull on clothes. He located clothes and joined her in the kitchen. Pouring himself a coffee, he moved to embrace her, but she pulled away.

"I should go." She explained half-heartedly, looking at the floor.

"You could stay?"

She looked up, and he wish she hadn't. The guilt poured from her; it leaked from every inch of her creamy skin. Her eyes were the worst. They held his gaze with such agony that Jay couldn't break free. He already had is answer before she opened her mouth. He didn't hate her for it, or himself.

"I know, Jay." Theresa looked away. "I know."

He nodded. He understood.

"I… I'll see myself out…" She fumbled with her shoes, and made for the door. He didn't go to follow her. He couldn't bear to see her disappearing out of sight any more.

She didn't say goodbye. Neither did he. They'd already done that, years and years ago. They'd never said the exact words, but maybe it was what they had been saying all along. Every kiss was a goodbye.

Jay touched a finger to his lips.

He could feel her goodbye, still burning.

* * *

There was no war that would end all wars.

Every day was a battle. Every step was a fight. He hadn't worked out what forces were warring, or whose side he was on.

His dalliance with Theresa continued sporadically. Every once or twice a while, she'd appear on his doorstep with no explanation, no words. It was a routine, carefully constructed around the walls that she'd placed between them. She'd leave the morning after in the manner she arrived; wordlessly. He missed her words.

Often, he wondered how her life was. She was an intruder in his house, in his life, but he wasn't to steal back any of her life.

He wondered if she was still with the police, or if she'd moved on to another job. Did she have wealth behind her, or was she still in financial insecurity? Did she keep in touch with her father, or was there still a lingering sense of neglect there? Did she still buy a bouquet of orchids on the anniversary of her mother's death, and leave them to wilt on her window sill?

Often, he wondered if there was another man in her life.

Often, he tried to convince himself that he should be happy for Theresa if there was another man. She deserved to be loved whole-heartedly. But the selfish part of him despised the selflessness in this thought, and he found himself hating imagining her happy with anyone but him.

Jay had advice for anyone that tried to love her the way he did. Like, don't sing her to sleep, because nobody can get the right tune for her ears. And not to get her flowers on a bad day. Because if someone loved her even with a fraction of as much love as he felt for her, they would know that flowers reminded her of her mother's funeral.

Most of all, he despised how she might let someone in, and fool her into a heartbreak she was never prepared for, because he knew how that felt.

To the day he stood in his kitchen in nothing but reminiscence, he had not quite recovered.

"I'm going." He heard her murmur from the doorway. He didn't turn around. Maybe if he didn't see her, it would make her absence less painful.

_You could stay_, he thought as loud as he could, for old time's sake.

"I know." She replied, verbally, hearing his thoughts.

She left without saying goodbye, as had become their custom.

Two weeks later, he was beginning to wonder where she was. Maybe she had moved on for good this time, and he wouldn't see her again. Maybe it was for the best. But each evening he'd find himself staring out the window in the living room which overlooked the street, wondering if he'd see her small frame hurrying along the sidewalk. His heart raced with every set of footsteps, only to find a jogger or passer-byer. And not her.

Months passed. Years, even, until she visited next. Wordlessly, she passed through his door, past his questioning body and into the kitchen. There, she helped herself to his half-eaten pasta, eyeing him over the plate. He took a seat next to her, unsure of whether to touch her or not.

"Hi." He said eventually. She shook her head, gesturing for him not to speak.

Eventually, she embraced him, and they fell into the usual routine. Their bodies weren't strangers, but the strangeness of being with Theresa made him feel as if he were outside his skin, watching it all. Watching another man kiss the woman's jawline and undo her jacket's buttons. Another man in his bed, making love to the love of his life.

He still remembered the kisses of her lips, raw with love, and how he gave her everything he had and how she offered him what was left of her. As the other man touched his fingers to her lips, Jay was pulled back into his body, back onto his bed, naked, with Theresa.

Was it possible not to be touching, even when two bodies were pressed together, skin to skin? It certainly felt possible. He could feel every inch of her skin, but not an inch of her.

Telepathically, she told him he was thinking too loudly.

Telepathically, he told her he loved her, with all his heart.

Telepathically, she didn't respond.

They fell asleep, drifting into unconsciousness still wrapped in each other. Jay found that in his sleep, his mind was alive much more than it was when he was awake. His dreams were his thoughts in brilliant detail, preserved, but blurred around the edges. This night, he dreamt of stories his mother had told him, of falling in love.

In ancient times, people had four arms and legs and one soul. In other words, each person was made out of the components of two people. Everyone was happy with this arrangement and never really gave it much a thought. But then Zeus took a knife and cut everybody in half, right down the middle. So after that the world was divided just into two-armed-two-legged people - the upshot being that the people spent their time running around trying to locate their missing other half.

Anyone who fell in love was searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who was in love got sad when they thought of their lover. It was like stepping back inside a room they had fond memories of, one they hadn't seen in a long time.

Jay wondered if Theresa contained missing pieces of him, and if she was prepared to solve their jigsaw puzzle love, piece by piece.

When he woke, he found the bed empty, but the cavity left behind by Theresa's body was still warm. From down the hall, he heard the low whistling of the kettle. It was still dark, but a quick glance at his alarm clock told him that the sun was soon to rise. With a sigh, he stumbled out of bed, pulling on his clothes as he went.

He went out onto the patio. After adjusting to the pre-dawn light, he found her on the bench with his shirt from the night before draped over her slender frame. He didn't hear her say good morning; he was far too preoccupied with staring at her still swollen lips and observing the way her fingers stopped shivering as her hands cradled the hot cup of tea that rested on her lap. In the midst of this, the light morning wind blew her hair around her eyes, carrying her wild-flower perfume in his direction. As the night slowly became morning, the smallest spec of light crept through the horizon that oversaw the eastward mountains. She hesitantly got up, as if it was time for her to leave.

He argued his case as her lips broke into a melancholic smile.

"I can't stay, Jay."

_I wish I could stay._

"I know."

_I don't want you to go._

She embraced him, and the residual scent of her perfume clung to his skin. Something to remember her by. She slipped away, still wearing his shirt. Later, when he dragged himself off the patio, he found it neatly folded on the kitchen bench.

He never wore that shirt again.

As months trickled past, he no longer waited by the window. His heart didn't flutter when there was a knock on the door, or at the sound of footsteps past his house. He forgot what her perfume smelt like, and the shade of her eyes.

He was letting go. He was moving on, into a world where Theresa didn't exist. It was almost like she was dead - that thought had crossed his mind. But he figured that he'd feel it if she wasn't alive. Something would happen in his heart. There'd be a physical moment of a loss being pulled from his body, and he'd _know_ that she had departed from the mortal consciousness.

Dead or not, she wasn't coming back. And he was moving on. He could win that fight.

He would win, sure. But it was to be a pyrrhic victory. And in his mind, that wasn't much of a victory at all.


End file.
